Y/n walked out of the bathroom, dried tears on his face as he attempted to make a casual expression despite his sheer terror and the feeling of powerlessness. His heart rate was too fast for it to be healthy, and despite his best efforts, many could see that he was just making a brave face.
Ten minutes.
Ten minutes before his match.
Y/n: My execution.
He reminded himself of the proper terminology for such a situation, as he headed towards the gates to the stadium, before stopping.
Y/n: .....I can't do this I can't I can't I can't
His thoughts were disjointed, his voice in his head too loud, his breathing too quick. He slowly turned around to get to the office.
Y/n: Maybe I can make a nice joke if I withdraw from the tournament, I could still salvage this, I could-
He stopped. In front of him, was a familiar old man. The man towered over him, and had a rough, but kind face with a salt and pepper beard and moustache.
Y/n: "Old man."
Junya Masahiro. Y/n's foster father, and the man who taught him how to fight. He was apparently a Pro Hero, although a retired one, and Y/n had checked but he couldn't find any news articles relating to him.
Despite the mystery surrounding him, and the fact that he was very rarely around, Y/n trusted him, even if he still couldn't come around to calling him his dad.
Junya: "So. You chickening out, kiddo?"
Y/n: "Actually, it's more like a mercy, I'm letting that poor girl have a chance at actually winning this shitty tournament, plus, they would never let me go that far, they'd want a Quirkie in the winning spot-"
Junya: "Y/n."
He immediately stopped talking and sighed, looking at the floor.
Junya: "I've raised you for more than a decade, kid. You think I can't figure out when you're acting strong? You can be honest with me."
A few tears fell out of Y/n's hands, as he looked up towards Junya, and raised his hands.
Y/n: "....My hands....they....they're so small...and weak...I...I don't know....I..if...I don't think I could even scratch her....or...anyone with a half decent Quirk.... maybe I should quit..both this and....and the mask. I get so scared...and everything's so much bigger than me..."
By the end of his garbled stuttering, Y/n was crying again, his voice getting more and more choked up as he spoke. In response, Junya just smiled, and kneeled down to him, patting his shoulder.
Junya: "There, there, it's all right. It's fine. You can...you can quit if you want. But..I don't think you should. Here, give me your hands."
Y/n looked up at him as he wiped his tears. He slowly put his hands forward, and Junya placed them in his larger palms, and as soon as he did, he grunted in pretend pain.
Junya: "Oh god, oh, wow, those are...those are heavy hands. Probably heavy fists, too. These would probably leave a mark on anyone who got punched by 'em."
Y/n scoffed and took his hands away.
Y/n: "Like you said, you've raised me for more than a decade, I can tell when you're lying too."
Junya just smiled, and shook his head.
Junya: "Sure you do, kiddo. Sure you do. And for your fists....I wasn't lying. After all, your fists carry something no other fists do. And that makes their weight limitless."
YOU ARE READING
The prodigal weakling (Male Quirkless reader x Fem Todoroki)
FanfictionA boy was always told that he could never be a hero. But of course, he was not about to give up just yet. He had no chance to ever pass the hero entrance exams, so he never tried, and instead, joined the General Studies division. That didn't stop hi...
